anarchist at imperial beach

shiftless layabout in transit
not enough laying about if you ask him
restless, foot's got an itch, anxious
to vacate whatever space. sharks suffocate
sitting still, you know, and i'm a true pisces
ever the romantic, nothing but blue sky dreams
alive on saltwater, watching for masts
over horizon, take in daylight while it lasts.
finally a minute's rest for my soles
feet all beat up, shoes paperback flimsy
with a beat up paperback pocketed
subject trash to tickle his whimsy
oblivious to the traffic jam behind him
unwinding, chimay beside, don't mind him

y'all should play metal black, it's pretty good

you ever get that feeling you've slipped out of the world?
or maybe of coming home to the same mess you left behind and finding it unfamiliar?


off distant, double back
causing trouble, that's
all there is to it, ooze through the cracks
true story of alex mack
games of metal black
the new alone amino acid
drifting gene cluster
pulled to fully charge beam buster



earth's destruction and then i was born
absorb the blame but i just got here
weird, okay whatever, eat a dolphin dick
i'm feeding you the means to my own end
(when i'm not busy jizzing lazers, at least)
goddamn beastly, behind we is tapestry of history
don't pay attention, way too busy fixed on me
on killing me, on killing spree, on spreading me
throughout the ether. either i can fight or resign
myself to spilling my life so you'll eat
ah, but who the fuck are you if not the reason
i'm tasked with resurrecting a planet deceased
y'all are some dicks, man.

doggerel

holy mackerel smacking lips over cannibal
cravings of lady hands and toes
sandwiches? what the hell are those?
felt a bit of a breeze, the whole planet's blowing
me but i don't kiss and tell. wish me well,
i'm shopping out a tell all missive
that'll ring in pennies for the wishing well
more than sister helen, i smack dunces with the yardstick
i mean a three foot ruler, not a metaphor for hard dick
i've never been that egotistical
and that's what makes me so fucking awesome and downright mystical
speaking of measure i lost the meter a day ago
and seem to catch it at all. wait, no
i think i. fuck. fuck.

honestly, i don't know what passes for terrible
so much floats by on irony
put whatever on the page
and get fellated as if i were byron
i'm a product of environment -- coffee shops and bars
liquor and sticks of biscotti, licorice whips and sharts
um. shots. no skids, i drive right
never mind the spinout i wrote about around the ninth
alright, alright, no end in sight
of this insightful blind folly
of the darkest enlightenment
the harshest invite into
the mind of a steel bear
whose trap isn't biting
unless that thing about finger foods got you
in which case, get on my plate
i said i'd take you for dinner, didn't mean a date

oh god, this is awful
mush rushed, stream of conscience
muddied by drugs stuck in the tapwater

FUCK IT

raphael says you gotta know what "fuck it" is to understand kick it

get some of that fuck it in your system, quit the system that's fucking you
i mean, if you're not into fucking today. tomorrow, might be different
and that's what's got you worried. well, shit, go find a new lay
this old one's leaving you bruised and it's no fun really
and really if it's no fun, why are you doing it?
guarantee you whatever payoff comes won't match your investment
what they made off you forty years makes a joke of pension
to say nothing of ulcers and hypertension
high blood pressure, repetitive stress injuries
and so on. so fuck it. you only get the one life
don't rush to give it to the first dangling check
see if maybe you're not just worried how they talk about you
and if they do, fuck them, too. they're looking out for your stability
how else will you know where your next humiliation is coming from?
fuck that. throw the towel in, it only looks like apathy,
but it's boxing: quitters never win, and winners get brain damage.

wait till i get my money right. then you can't tell me nothin', right?

my dad told me once, and i will never forget it, though i have forgotten where he told me he'd heard it before:

"when they came to us, we had the land and they had the bible. they taught us to pray with our eyes closed. when we opened our eyes, they had the land and we had the bible."

dropouts who can't afford it
anymore than they can machines to help 'em do the work
home for anthem broadcast, out again when rooster crows
back pains before reunion, beat up worse than booster gold
muscles popped from pulling ends together
put in work, they tell us, and our tired dogs'll walk through heaven
the meekest ones too shamed to claim inheritance
dead from overtoiling, of pneumonia. what year is this?
back home they struggle, look up - "in god we trust"
scraping notes of legal tender love and care like that's what's up
stacks and mortar cardhouse, but the deck's stacked
higher interest mortgages if you're brown or black
unemployment seventeen percent and climbing
but overall is dropping it's seven percent headlines
better not get sick if your boss don't like you
otherwise atop those doctor bills you join that population spike
"mmm, but wait 'till i get my money right
mortgage, suits and brand new shoes from dudes who called me 'monkey'
that'll show 'em." homie offered me a job, started
"so, what can you do?" out to mechanize my art
best intention, but i had to take a pass
long as i live i won't call any man or woman boss or master
not even self. i only have the one life
why waste it on a daily grind, tryin' to get mine?
i'm of a mind to live right now as i'd like to later
whatever tomorrow comes is a refinement of what i practice today.

not making ends, i'm taking means and making breakfast.

shroedinger's chair

that chair is mine.
isn't it?
isn't that my chair?
that isn't my chair.
that chair isn't mine?
mine isn't that chair.
mine that chair isn't.
is not that chair mine?
not that chair, isn't mine.

what do you mean, i don't have a chair?
what, do you mean i don't have a chair?
don't i have a chair?
i do have a chair.
i have a chair.

that chair is mine, don't "isn't" me, meanie.

you know, that hopper fella was onto something

born, chances are, into a roomful of people
certainly out of another person
certainly the product of two people (themselves of two people(themselves of two people(and so on)))

someday to die, chances are, in a roomful of people
certainly buried or otherwise disposed of by other people
certainly to be thought of by other people

how many of us live alone?
me, i can't afford to and i'd probably go nuts if i did.
no to mention i'm constantly surrounded by the works of others
and oh god the internet
did you know dust is mostly flakes of human skin?
i am breathing people right now
nevermind work, the roads during rush hour, the lines at the grocery store,
the security guard who looks at me cross,
every other stressed 20-something (millennials, that's what they call us now)
all freaking the fuck out because we must've done something wrong
for so much to not go according to plan
standing in the same lines
playing the same songs
writing the same poems

whoever it was that convinced us we're ultimately alone
has to be a hell of a salesperson or lawyer or novelist
or else so much wasted talent, goddamn.

it is crowded as fuck, this life of ours
but everyone's so lonely

something about roads and driving on them

i'm on the road and it's like i'm flying
impossibly fast, from city into countryside
within an hour, on nothing for horsepower
soapbox derby coasting down mountains
even though my dad told me never to do that
all those years ago, driving to phoenix
god, i could do this forever
i wish my camera was a robot, or that
i had somebody riding shotgun to take pictures
it's pretty as fuck out here
but all my concentration is on the lane
staying in it, riding curves like a magnet
sliding through miles
a hundred feet per second; faster
forty-five seconds to the mile
i'm not breaking any records but goddamn
i don't break 'em, i only play 'em
speaking of, it's time to switch albums

give my regards to cbs

you can see it
britney hit the scene at sixteen
journalists twice her age called her sexy
countdown clocks till she hit eighteen
all over the internet.
even dudes who hated her music.
lindsay and hillary, mary-kate and ashley
i don't know them, but i grew up with 'em, kinda
on my tv, on billboards,
tabloids in grocery stores

and then have fun watching them all break

they're all about my same age
can't help but draw parallels
kids with so much potential
folks twice their age dying to tap that
potential
countdown to graduation
who's gonna get it?
get everything you can out of them

and then watch us break in a special on 60 minutes


eww, creeps, leave britney alone!

poison prey or spicy snack

you've got that look in your eye
that hook in your mind
you might've
lashed at a fly
and took me this time
saliva
drool off the side,
now don't try to hide it
i spied your
every mobile
this here signifies
a fight for
maybe what's right
or maybe desire
no fly has ever killed any frog from the inside

manmade self

i am a fan of floorplans and exit maps
blueprints, concept sketches, printed schematics
exploded views, parts details and pinouts
x-rays, MRIs and sonograms
dry tests, thought exercises and algorithms
pseudocode, pulley and rope, muscle and tendon
texas instruments, 3M and dockers
LAN cases, plastic bottles, footlockers
wrist straps, ICs and wirecutters
lockpicks, heavy mallets and crowbars
electromagnetic solenoids and hard liquor
 frankensteinian cyborgs and gremlins
engines -- diesel, stirling and jet
pigments -- acrylic, oil and lead
glass eyes, voice boxes and hearing aids
sucker for fast women sporting prosthetic legs

14.7psi

sticky icarus parable at periphery
on re-ascent to grace, freakin' a little, apparently
rickety wings'll carry me, we did the math
or bury me, whatever, laugh
i'm beakman's disciple
engineer a new michael
leave the mission to the missionaries quick to tarry
i'm prone to dilly dally daily 'swhy i made aviary
ditch the hive wasp sting one too many times
shaking tailfeathers for takeoff afraid of heights
no rest till showtime at the apollo

this is a respectable house

don't sleep, tick tick, clock spinning
grind time and sloth is sinning
sun come up, come, let's get it
stack chips, work ad infinit-
um...

jump higher meet bar prices
pony up green, you're nicest
no windowshopping, buy it
can't afford, don't look my way
uh...

invest in personal brand
keep smiling, always shake hands
whatever joke comes just laugh
don't get too close and you'll last
huh

believe and you'll manifest
if not, you don't have faith yet
your will is all to command
universe greatest riches
'kay

women don't be masculine
men don't be effeminate
your hair's long. for religion?
buy my book for more lessons.
wait

this seminar is free, come
it even has a free lunch
but coaching sessions do cost
can't guarantee a new job
oh

oh shit i forgot where i was going with this. i'll come back to it later, maybe?

spiced rum

liquor has not touched these lips in sometime
i might wanna do something about that

match nightcaps with daytime fitted or hoodie
no good, least don't think he'd go for senator, would he
doff the politic he'd much rather keep it home
and tell the grassroots he'll speak his own, out with nematodes
beneath the grime and grit peep the slime
primed to keep shine some crime inclined minds
climb the climes to bust through strata
doing battle using all the green pink and grey matter
surface dwellers outclassed and outweighed
someone cut the line to aquaman, shat where he lay
we mesmerized the ants to battletanks and flies to jets
could take an elephant till you know who's the nicest yet
get to know me, i'm the one who ate your neighbors
zombie mob noshing in payment for ancient labors
prophets or not like to claim we're praying for a favor
just preying on the lords and bosses savoring a leg
all he's thinking it could use a bit more seasoning
for him it's suppertime and ain't one to be reasoned with

makin' eyes at the devil's thighs

sway of hips as she walks is serpentine
enticing eyes to emulate her oscillating spine
ah, and the hurt is worth it. watching her hands
in flick of wrist, and forked tongue fingertips dance

i know you. they told me about you
in hushed tones under sunday morning
said to watch out for girls like you

her words are suggestions of sentences
each a what if sparking questions
a million a minute, righteous heads
twist to cynical, she's labeled temptress
for entertaining my dormant inklings
i'm thinking how grand it is to think on other things
sideways glances and a flash of teeth

i know you. they told me about you
in hushed tones under sunday mornings
said to watch out for girls like you
i don't wanna so much as blink.

get what's yours from out this fucker 'fore your time run out

you know, something's wrong, when i'm a sort who gets suspicious when everything goes well.
i could tell you why that is, miles along my hands and back covered in stories
of false starts and broken promises and felled plans pulled out from under me
at the whims of a boss or a market or a spiteful mentor,
but honestly, it's boring as hell and i'd rather hear about you.

'cause i know i ain't the only one.

let's crush a cup of wine and smash the bottle
grab a can of gas and a match and something hollow
set off fireworks in our own backyards
or maybe an empty lot
don't scoff at me about what you used to do
no one's future proof and that's why you just "used to"
i'm of use to no institution i'm used to
ejected reject degenerate with a new suit
was nearly used to scandalous ends
grew mean streak from shelltoe to split ends
can't talk to me or my associates
about potential cash infusion opiate
zombie kin from infantry and even industry
results of promises a hell of a gift
nah, we're good

kaneda

chewing leather and hickory to think past it
wet pants leg from pissing vinegar on tracks
a sentimental asshole, spit at you, "now give it back"
or else i'll pay it forward, come at you with broken glass
you can't have me. this is not an act.
i'm grown man and'll axe you in fit of passion
grew to be neglected, don't get mad i neglect back
with theft mass, don't care, like "it's mine, why do you ask?"
i lived through hell, now i'm slicin' piece of heaven
however i gotta get it, i'll grind until i grab it
never satisfied, i'm a perfection addict
fiendin' to fix it while it's still working is my habbit
i hang with homeless men who'll croon until you crash with'em
could serenade a civic officer out of her pants and belt
and laid off white collar disgruntled hacktivists
mad 'cause every mentor that came along took advantage
fuck paying dues, my crew already has
just from coming out from recruiters with dignity intact
every authority said we're beautiful was actually
planning to make a buck, rob us blind and shoot us back
ducking sallie mae calls, won't bother with freddie mack
spending days in hotel lobbies and sleeping in cadillacs
faking living large, chocolate cake off of food stamps
until we make it -- jacking beers -- you can't tell these fools how to act
try it, i dare you. you can find us at the cracks
you're afraid of slipping through, yourself. we're those rejects come back
hop on the bike and throttle it to crash the capitol
might get shot up, don't give a fuck. this ain't for craps and laughter.
'sides, they'll patch us. more worried 'bout what comes after:
fill us with drugs and chalk it all up to depression.
downing ritalin, xanax and aderall like candy
you shouldn't have fucked us up, it's a drug zombie attack

and fuck tomorrow, long as the night before was sweet

basking in anonymity, featureless
futureless, no speculation on my returns
my, my -- no returns, no interest
uninterested, uninvested, eyes off the dropout
finally, some peace and quiet
work in secret, publicly
from prized to priceless to worthless
wouldn't have it any other way
don't look at me
army recruiters fuck off
college recruiters fuck off
vanity press fuck off
i don't mind being seen
but i don't like being looked at
drooled over
it's creepy

relax

65mph and slowing, on brakes, exit
something is in the way, right front lifts
okay, turn left. veers right, swerves left
two lanes cleared, gasps from back seat
only coherent thought "what." hand from shotgun
a voice: "relax"
you know, that's not a bad idea
hands slack, feel it
give her some gas
spin -- okay, we've finished
turn around, drive, suddenly not so tired
we'll just take some future exit.
good thing it's past midnight.

info

living in the information age immortalized
in text and picture published to persistent page
world wide web or woodpulp hacked burned and oxidized
or rotted overgrown with mold and teeming with new lives
meantime, pored over by eyes that lay upon the page
sequences of words in sentences stamp minds and leave them changed
and thus the ghost of me is born even as my body draws breath
and the ghost grows into its own soul for decades past my death

inkclots

i bleed ink. life force stains pages
draining soul to sheets to anchor spirit to ages
ancient pharaohs calling down gods from space
i retrace. my every intonation irreplaceable
indelible, inevitable offhand comments
drop hard enough to bomb notions; schools of thought
fall to my tongue. lungs synthesize nerve gas
my words pass through sonoral cavity, causing paralysis
notebook covered in bitemarks. i eat my words
full of myself, ouroboros and truly the worst
my beginning circles to consume my end
tighter than your day beginning when the last hardly finished
my name is spinach, getting in where i can barely fit
scratching paint from the walls and breaking cabinets
redecorating from jump as if i've made it my own
a rolling stone -- anyplace i lay my hat is my home.

i'm post-guerilla war; attack as if i have no enemies

nevermind revolutionary standard of holding progress hostage in demand of permission
i'll neither ask it nor demand it, just assume it and live
waiting's lame and if you brandish guns you're gunned down
it's a fight in cycles, law/outlaw go play, i'll make what i want now

if i luck out, the day may never come to ask forgivenes
but it might, whatever, least i had some fun and ran with it, shit.
if it catches, and i catch a few playmates of my own
our play at new polite society may supplant the old

missions are for missionaries and those guys are boring as fuck

went upstairs

looked deep into my brain

nothing there but some old dusty thoughts i'd been meaning to tidy up
and a dead bug mashed against a bookspine.

nothing of any real interest. i'd rather be playing kickball at the park,
but i am here, typing this, so i'll have typed something.

you ever have one of those days?

on those days, what you need to do is go out and play, quit being such a nerd.

more often than dreams, lies do come true, you know.

more often than dreams, lies do come true, you know.
i should know, after all i am the guy that once said:
"more often than dreams, lies do come true, you know."

just kidding. well, kidding, not "just" anything.

pretending, playing, fooling and jest

entertaining thoughts, following them till

oh stop it, you're busting me up

hair-raising, uncouth, suits unseemly

the ridiculed onstage made ridiculous audience

body follows brain: convulsive fits

laughter or dance, whatever, shake something

cracked decorum under fiery roof, no water

this is what it means

to let the motherfucker burn

i got my lie-ter and a can of laughs

and i am the king of fools!

a title i wear proudly, until i get sick of it.
i am a filthy rotten pervert with a friendly smile
who wants to get to know you so he can fuck your mind, too

a transient in a three piece suit
who feasts on ill-gotten delicacies and laughs
in the face of self-proclaimed self-made execs from across the table

a vagabond, the shabby king
in wrinkled robes and tarnished crown
because fuck high maintenance ornamentation, i'll just dust it off

disreputable disastrous sham of a poet
never slams, jams or makes a show of respect
admires the dreck and doggerel, at least it's funny, right?

sandcastle prospector, erecting wishy washy
stabs at parody of solid structure, joins waves in knocking it over
fuck it, the night is young and warm, just how i like my women, tonight the sky's my mistress.